Five Times Ron Weasley Took a Bullet for Harry Potter

(And one time he didn't)

a/n: A fic that comes to you in five parts + one bonus shmoopy thing.
Disclaimer: I own a small metaphysical pygmy puff. I do not own Hermione's pert ass. Nor do I own anyone else.

1.

Ron's fairly certain Harry doesn't know about the first time. It was in Hogwarts, their fifth year, when the Boy Who Lived was too busy being an angry revolutionary to sweat the small stuff, and the Brightest Witch was too busy making sure the aforesaid angry Boy got through his school year in one (living, breathing, taking down Dark Lords) piece. Ron Weasley didn't have a title, not really, he was just the other guy. But he was the other guy who was the best friend to Boy Who Lived and the Brightest Witch of Her Age. So he figured he'd done pretty good anyway.

It was on their way back from Charms, he thinks, a few days after Harry had picked his first fight with Umbridge. Someone had said something, someone had said something else, Harry had yelled a third something and it all devolved into an ugly shouting match. Flitwick had ended it with 50 points off from both Slytherin and Gryffindor, and then Harry had stomped off, fuming and pissed off, like he was wont to do those days.

He thinks it was a couple of older Ravenclaws, he thinks maybe he saw a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye, but there no time for that, was there? Not with the bright purple curse flying at Harry's unprotected back. And then he was running, sprinting down towards Harry to push him away, pull him back, something! And the curse him - hard and rough and sending pain through his bones like ohholyMOTHERFU-

He was barely aware of falling, only knowing that he couldn't scream, his throat spasming, eyes watering, barely aware even of the hard smack! of his head against the flagstoned castle floor. Brown filled his vision, and Hermione? Hermione? She was cradling his head in her lap, kneeling on the floor, wand in hand, and whispering quiet healing spells. The pain receded, leaving a dull throbbing and then her fingers were brushing his lips, and she was murmuring, "Drink this," holding a tiny potion vial. He drank cautiously, throat still raw from the not-screaming, and it was cool and blissful and he didn't think he'd ever loved her better.

Later, in the common room, when Harry shortly said, "Where were you two?", he responded with a, "Got held up. A coupla firsties got lost on their way to Defense. Perks of the job, eh?" Harry's eyes had flashed to his Prefect badge. He grunted and said nothing, returning to an unfinished essay.

Hermione smiled at him then, all tender warmth. "Don't want to worry him?", she asked softly.
"He's got enough on his plate, right?"

Besides, Ron figured, Hermione's smile was repayment enough.

a/n:

gotta admit, the title (and summary) is blatantly plagiarized from that one destiel fanfic i read that one time months ago because i'm an unoriginal skank. (it was, if you're wondering, excellent.)

r&r, you know it's done.
thanks for reading!

edit on 16/2/15:

zomg i completely forgot - this story's cover image is by viria13 over on deviantart, go stalk her - she's bae 3